Sun and Moon Exalted
by drakensis
Summary: What are a pair of new Anathema supposed to do on the Blessed Isle with all hands turned against them and all their values turned upside down? Warning - Dark!
1. chapter01

Maylo shouldn't have taken the short-cut. He knew that as soon as he heard the muffled sounds from ahead of him. The smack of flesh and bone was all too familiar in the halls of the Tepet these days, as his father took out his frustrations upon slaves, or younger members of the family.  
  
It was too late to go back - Eloho had seen him come this way and she'd use any show of weakness on his part to push past him into father's favour. But... that left going on, and young as he was, Maylo had no wish to see more of the beast that raved within his father.  
  
He flinched as a stifled scream reached him and stepped forwards reluctantly. The younger members of the family had only returned from their schools two weeks before but it was clear that the House had not prospered. A litany of woes - dynasts ruined, soldiers dead, enterprises sabotaged - had been passed on through the network of servants and younger patricians that all the children knew to pay attention to.  
  
Two days before leaving for school, Maylo had seen his father beat an aging slave to death with his bare hands. He shuddered to think what the man would be like now. 'Perhaps they're right,' he thought. 'Perhaps I really am too soft.'  
  
He crept towards the storeroom door and paused to remove his sandals before he eased past it. Drawing attention now would be cause for a beating, or perhaps worse. Bare feet had less chance to betray him.  
  
He had only taken one step beyond the door when he heard a crash from inside, and then an angry voice. "Bitch... fix you..."  
  
That wasn't his father, wasn't the silky menace he had heard criticising him from above for more than a decade. It was ugly with pain and hate, a voice that seemed known to him but one he could not place.  
  
The sound of more blows, more gasps of pain.  
  
Curiosity overwhelmed him. The door had been jammed from within but Maylo remembered one of his teachers telling him to deal with that. He knelt and drew his belt dagger, reaching it under the door to dig the tip into the jamb. A deft twist and the wooden wedge was loosened. The boy returned his dagger to his belt and eased the door latch up, barely touching it as he pushed the door lightly.  
  
The sounds came clearer. Maylo swallowed and eased the door enough to peek around it with one eye. He raked back vagrant locks of black hair from his left eye and gazed at a small pallet laid on the floor of the wine cellar. The man couched by it was big, taller and broader than Maylo's youthful frame, his back to the door. Beyond him, curled on the pallet was a girl, little older than Maylo. Her hands were tied above her head to a wooden frame that held dusty wine bottles and her clothes, the ragged smock of a slave, had been mostly torn away.  
  
Maylo's gasp was obviously not stifled enough - he was no puling innocent, but he had never thought to see one of his house so cowardly as to bind a slave-girl half his size before he took what he wanted. The man turned and Maylo was plunged from horror into nightmare. The face he saw might have been his own, high cheekbones and piercing green eyes set in an olive complexioned face framed by long ebony hair. But this face was older and marked by a duelling scar above the left eye.  
  
"Jarek!" Maylo gasped.  
  
Tepet Jarek snarled as he saw the spy, then he lunged, one thick wrist blocking the door before Maylo could close it and his fingers seizing on the boy's tunic, dragging him into the room. "Little brother."  
  
* * *  
  
Maylo screamed into the wad of cloth jammed into his mouth, his hands clutching at the frame of the wine rack. Blood still dripped from his face where Jarek had pummelled him unconscious but the pain was fleeting compared to the violation his brother was committing against him.  
  
Darkness swelled comfortingly around him and Maylo fought to stay awake. Beyond the animal sense of suffering that enveloped him, he realised that Jarek couldn't let him live. A slave here or there meant nothing, but a dynast, a potential _Dragon-Blood_?  
  
And there was no one to protect Maylo. The girl was comatose on the floor - Jarek had been harder on her than on Maylo as the younger boy lay stunned and she was barely alive right now.  
  
Maylo could barely even see the bottles in front of him. He tried to hold onto the thread of anger that had held him on for so long... how long? He couldn't say, there was no time, just pain and humiliation... but there was nothing left. He was losing his battle and there was nothing he could do but try to hold on with an increasingly weak grip.  
  
Grip.  
  
Hold on.  
  
His hands...  
  
Around the wine rack's corner post...  
  
Inspiration struck and he pulled at the post. It didn't move. He pulled again, in time with the obscene rhythm that encompassed he and Jarek. This time he felt a shift. He tried again.  
  
And again.  
  
Again, his arm protesting the abuse, his ribs aching where a careless kick had fractured them, his lungs afire.  
  
Again, operating on touch alone, his sight fading as blood pulsed through his veins.  
  
Again, as Jarek's touch sent pain through him again and again.  
  
Again and again and...  
  
Again, and the stout wood cracked and broke. The last thing Maylo felt before the heavy rack fell forwards, pinning the two to the floor, was his hand still trying to twist at the broken wood.  
  
* * *  
  
Maylo dreamed.  
  
He dreamed of himself and of the girl. He dreamed of a figure of silver who stood over the girl, so bright he could not look at it.  
  
He dreamed of figure of gold who stood over _him_ and reached down to him.  
  
"My dear child," he dreamed. "You fight for the weak though you are weak yourself, fight so even when those you reverence turn against you. In my anger, I turned my face from the world of men, but I shall do so no longer. Know that I love you and that I mark you as mine forever."  
  
He dreamed that fire took him, and burned away all his dross. He dreamed he was a flame, was a storm, was a great light, was exalted.  
  
Maylo dreamed.  
  
* * *  
  
Mara dreamed.  
  
She dreamed of herself and of the young master suffering with her. She dreamed of a figure of gold that stood over him, wrapped in glamorie that she could not see past.  
  
She dreamed of a bright figure that stood over _her_ and reached down to her.  
  
"You who have no father," she dreamed. "I am your father now. You who suffer for others, I shall give you cause to suffer for your own sake. Know that you are among my chosen warriors. Go and make the world a righteous place as you know best. Draw a line against the darkness and know you act with my blessing."  
  
She dreamed that she felt cool lips against her forehead and cool fire engulfed him. She dreamt she died and was reborn, was shattered and exalted. 


	2. chapter02

Mara woke. The floor was hard against her face, harder than her thin pallet. The events that had left her laid there flooded back in a merciless torrent. One of her wrists was free, marked with blood where the rope had chafed her. The other was twisted awkwardly behind her and above, binding her to the wooden frame.  
  
Her head pounded as she opened her eyes. The sun had set and the room was shadowed and quiet. She could hear light breathing from the shattered wooden rack in front of her, where the Masters had lain, but the debris blocked her sight of whatever lay under it.  
  
Rising to her knees hurt in ways she didn't want to think about. It wasn't the first she'd suffered at the hands of masters, but it was the first since she'd come to womanhood. She'd been hurt before though, and if the pain was unfamiliar it was still only pain. Her fingers were still deft and the knot was no more complex than it needed to be to restrain a girl no more than a month past fourteen years.  
  
The light was strange, she realised. At first she had thought that the soft silvery light was cast by a candle or lantern behind her but it was too steady and no matter where she turned the light seemed to be from behind her. Or...  
  
No, not behind her.  
  
The light came _from_ her.  
  
As the thought came to her, the light from her forehead brightened cheerfully and a veil of silver motes sheathed her half-naked body. The light was warm she realised numbly.  
  
The pile of broken glass and wood heaved suddenly. Smaller fragments shifted but the main beams did not. From beneath, a strange golden light could be seen. Another heave, with no more result and now she heard a muffled curse in a young voice.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked and then broke off, in horror at her temerity. Slaves were _not_ supposed to address the Masters until acknowledged. Then she shook her head. ~I've been here so very, very long. Too long.~  
  
The younger of the two Masters replied, seemingly unconcerned at the impropriety. "I can't get out from under Jarek," he said in a pained voice. "The beams from the wine rack are too heavy. And there's something strange about the light here."  
  
Mara examined the pile. "One of the corner beams is across his back. I can't move something that heavy."  
  
He coughed. "I just need an inch. Can't you pry it up, even for a moment?"  
  
Mara though of his predicament, trapped against Master Jarek... "I'll try."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Mara smiled thinly. It might not be the _first_ occasion a Tepet had used those words to a slave. It was almost certainly the first time this century though. She dug through the heap until she found a reasonably stout timber to use as a lever. Bracing it in the thin crack between the corner beam and the post beneath it, she took a deep breath. "On the count of three."  
  
"Right."  
  
The girl dug her lever in and pulled at it. For a moment the beam resisted. She closed her eyes and _heaved_. The warmth of that silvery light was around her and it felt as if it was soaking into her arms, filling them with energy. She felt the beam shift and then rise. A finger's width then another. With a sharp CRACK, her lever snapped like a twig and the beam settled further.  
  
Energy drained out of her and she slumped against the pile. "I'm sorry..."  
  
"Don't be," said the young Master's voice, clearer now. "You moved it enough. I can get out now." He matched action to word and she watched him wriggle out from the timbers. The gold light was from him, she realised, just as the silvery light surrounded her.  
  
He paused as he saw her. "Silver," he whispered. "And gold." He examined the light around him for a long moment. "I don't understand."  
  
Mara retreated a step as he turned back to her. "You have a mark on your forehead," he said quietly. There was dread in his voice and Mara could not fathom why. "It looks like a crescent moon."  
  
"Yorus looks like the Unconquered Sun," she said and did not know why. He flinched. "Why does that frighten you?"  
  
"We are... we are damned..." he whispered. "I thought. I hoped that this was Exaltation. It felt they way I was told it would. But this," he touched his forehead. "It is the brand of Anathema."  
  
Mara caught her breath. Even slaves knew of the Anathema. Long ago they had ruled Creation, until the Elemental Dragons tired of their corruption and sent the Dragon-Blooded to cast them down, forging the Realm to rule over the world. The kingdoms of the Threshold paid tribute to the Realm, which in return sent out its legions to defend against the terrors on the boundaries of the Wyld. The best of the Realm's servants were the Wyld Hunt, who sought out and slew Anathema before they could turn their evil to destroy the world they had once ruled.  
  
Then common sense reasserted itself. Whatever the Anathema were, they could hardly be worse than Tepet Jarek would be if he awoke and found them here. And whatever else they might be, Anathema were _powerful_. If Mara had learnt anything in her short life it was that it was better to have power than to lack it.  
  
"Can we hide them?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. The Immaculates will find us," the boy whispered. "They always do. We can't..."  
  
She silenced him with a fierce kiss. "Life is sweet," she whispered, not knowing why it seemed so right to touch him thus. "And I am not done with mine."  
  
Gently he touched her shoulders, a surprised look on his face. "We shouldn't..."  
  
"Because I'm a slave and you're a master? Do you think that matters now?"  
  
"No..." He sighed. "I don't even know your name."  
  
"I'll tell you later," she said before silencing him again.  
  
* * *  
  
Maylo woke, the sky still dark outside the small window. There were voices outside, loud and questioning. Mara lay against him. She had told him her name and he had told him hers before they slept.  
  
"What brings you to my manse. Brother Deled?" came his father's voice.  
  
The other voice was cold and arrogant. "I am on the Hunt." There was a pause. "Are you a fool, Tepet!? The auguries are clear. Anathema are within your very Manse! Stand aside in the name of th Wyld Hunt!" 


	3. chapter03

Mara woke to Maylo's hand upon her shoulder. "Wake up," he hissed. "The Hunt is upon us."  
  
Her eyes widened as terror swept through her for a moment and then narrowed again. "We're _Exalted_, Maylo. We can take them."  
  
"Don't be a fool. You were right last night. Life _is_ sweet, but we are outnumbered and they are much better prepared than us. Remember, the Wyld Hunt are trained to kill people like us."  
  
"Then what do you suggest? Stay here, Like rats in a trap?"  
  
"No," Maylo shook his head. "We run. For now. We need to hide our auras. I know it's possible, they mentioned it at school."  
  
She gazed at him and then concentrated on the veil of silvery light around her. If faded gently until only the mark on her forehead remained. She could feel it burning coldly. "I can't hide this though."  
  
His aura had faded too, leaving the sunburst on his forehead. "Nor can I. We'll need scarfs to cover them then." He looked at their ragged clothes. "And fresh clothes as well, these are too conspicuous."  
  
"I don't have any other clothes," she pointed out. "I'm a... I _was_ a slave, remember."  
  
He eyed her appraisingly and she flushed under his eyes. "My sisters have plenty," he said suddenly. "We have to hurry."  
  
Mara turned to follow him and then stopped to look at the still unconcious figure under the wrecked wine-rack. "What about him? He could wake up." She took a step towards Jarek  
  
Maylo shook his head. "Don't. He's still my brother."  
  
"Do you think that matters to him?"  
  
"It matters to _me_."  
  
* * *  
  
Maylo crouched on the balcony of Eloho's suite. She'd been called down to gather with the rest of the family in the main chamber where the Immaculates could examine them while their guards swept the rest of the Manse. There were dozens of children though - brothers, sisters and cousins of various degrees. He didn't expect he'd be missed just yet. Jarek on the other hand, would be expected to aid the Immaculates.  
  
Behind him, Mara finished bundling a handful of his sister's garments together. There was a ripping sound as she used the tiny scissors his sister kept for trimming her nails to open one of the seams on Eloho's favorite frock, just in case she had to run in it.  
  
"I'm done. Where now?" she asked softly, coming up behind him.  
  
"My room - it's the next floor up."  
  
"I think they'll have guards on the stairwells, Maylo."  
  
He grinned. "I know. There's another way." He opened the wardrobe that Mara had closed fastidiously and tugged the topshelf sideways. It slid easily and he pulled himself through the narrow gap into the bottom of another wardrobe above. Reaching back, he caught mara's bundle and then helped her up. "This is my wardrobe."  
  
"Convenient," she said in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. "How did you know it was there?"  
  
He flushed. "It was left a little open by whoever used it before I used this room. I heard Eloho down there with one of the stable-boys and when I looked for the chink in the bottom of the wardrobe..."  
  
"Who had the room before you?"  
  
"Jarek." He hesitated. "She was very fond of Jarek when we were younger. Before he joined the Legions."  
  
She nodded quietly. "What do you need?"  
  
Maylo closed the bottom of his wardrobe and stripped off, pulling clean clothes from the hangers. "My bow is in the next cupboard," he said. "There should be a quiver with it."  
  
She opened the cupbaord and passed the items to him silently. As he donned the fresh hunting clothes and bundled two more outfits into a bag, she prowled the room restlessly. Spotting a long dagger on the desk she tucked it beneath her own belt. "Hurry up. We can't have much longer before the search reaches us."  
  
He nodded, buckling the quiver's baldric across his chest. "I'm ready."  
  
The two left the room and sped along a passage towards the end of the manse. They were almost at the end when Maylo halted outside an ornate door. "This way."  
  
"What? That's your father's study!"  
  
"It overlooks the stables. Come _on_." He pushed at the door. When it resisted he stroked it gently and then tapped it harshly with one knuckle. The bolt snapped back audibly and the door swung open slowly, on silent hinges.  
  
"How did you do that," Mara asked, latching the door after them.  
  
"I... don't know," Maylo mumbled. "It just came to me."  
  
She gave an understanding nod and went to the window. "Right, there are the stables."  
  
"I'll go first," he said. "If anyone is there they will be less suspicious of me than they will of you in my sister's clothes. Bind this around your forehead though." He passed her a broad ribbon of crimson silk. He had another and tied it around his head, covering the glowing brand on his forehead. Looking closely, Mara could still make out the slightest glow, but at a distance it should be invisible.  
  
Maylo climbed out the open window and onto the stable roof while she bound her forehead, and then down to the ground, vanishing into the stables themselves. For a moment she watched the yard, waiting for him, and then her eyes wandered around the sumptuous chamber. Her eyes settled on a locked cabinet and she pulled at the door idly. It resisted and she drew her dagger, prying at the latch.  
  
Just as it gave way, she heard voices from outside the window.  
  
* * *  
  
Maylo had saddled his father's best riding horse and was opening the stall to Jarek's favorite when the door to the Manse opened, catching him in the open.  
  
His father was the first out and his jaw dropped as he saw Maylo in the stables. "MAYLO!" he bellowed. "What are you _doing_!? And where's Jarek!?"  
  
Maylo's mind raced. "He sent me to saddle Lancer for him, father. He said..."  
  
The man who followed Tepet Arjav into the cobbled yard was tall and wore armour beneath his Immaculate robes. "Why do you cover your forehead, boy?" he interrupted, an intense look on his blue-tinged face. "What are you hiding?"  
  
"What in the name of the Scarlet Empress are you suggesting?" Maylo's father demanded. "He's young and foolish but he's a mere boy, no Anathema."  
  
The gaze of Peleps Deled didn't waver and a fang of legionaires poured down the steps to spread around the two Dragon-Blooded. Arjav's half-sister, Flavia, followed them, her own Immaculate robes billowing in a wind that touched only her.  
  
Maylo cursed inwardly and pulled an arrow from his quiver. "I'm sorry, father. You're wrong," he said loudly, hoping Mara would be able to escape while the Hunt focused on him. He nocked the arrow and raised the tip swiftly towards the smug sneer Deled's face. "I'm the one you're looking for." 


End file.
